


adder stones

by pro_se



Series: creature feature [4]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Pirates, Romance, Strong Language, mild violence, monster au, non-linear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-08-24 19:39:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16646450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pro_se/pseuds/pro_se
Summary: Hours earlier, the Calico crashed through the tavern’s swinging doors, howling that the pirates known as Charles Vane and Benjamin Hornigold weregone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *hurls this into the ac/reader tags*  
> what do you mean october is over

You found no solace ever since the adder stone crossed your desk.

Plagued with waking nightmares and fleeting shadows in the corner of every room, the company at Old Avery finally convinced the notorious Blackbeard between his wild bouts of madness and alcoholism to explain the magic of this phenomenon. Adder stones: Smooth, tumbled stones with a hole bored through their middle. Folk think they were birthed from snakes or would turn into a writhing tangle of vipers at the full moon.

Scowling, Blackbeard chased the others away and sat alone with you, the adder stone in his dirty, stained grasp. _There’s magic in ‘em,_ he rasps, and then he raises it to eye level. _Witches used ‘em to see truths hidden behind deception._ His weary, heavy-lidded eye, as dark as distant storms, leers from the stone’s depths.

And then he winks.

Blackbeard tosses the stone back to you. _Others say it’s good for protection against evil._

His words toll like church bells as you now navigate past ship wreckage, shattered barrels, and frayed ropes. Footsteps crunch in tandem with yours. To your far left, Kidd crouches and picks up a shattered sabre. To the right, a quick glance finds the pirate Kenway sifting through the low tide’s hidden treasures.

Your fingers nervously run over the adder stone in your coat pocket.

 _This is your fault,_ it whispers. _It’s your fault that strange magic has descended over Nassau._

Kenway materializes by your side, a hand grazing the small of your back. “Don’t worry,” he says quietly, effortlessly seeing past the worry etched on your face. “We’ll find ‘em before nightfall.”

Hours earlier, the Calico crashed through the tavern’s swinging doors, howling that the pirates known as Charles Vane and Benjamin Hornigold were _gone._

Kenway, Kidd, and you-- awake and able-- leapt to your feet and ran to the docks, stringing up sails as fast as humanly possible, and sailed to _Ranger’s_ last location. Adéwalé tracked the offenders to a nearby isle while Rackham clung to the mast, shivering like he’s seen a ghost. _Treasure hunters,_ he whimpered finally, sinking to the deck as the last of courage left his spindly frame. _They wanted pirates who knew how to find treasure._

 _The shallows will breach the hull, so I’ll keep ‘er from running aground,_ Adéwalé told Kenway, kindred spirits clasping forearms in a solid grip.

 _Stay here,_ Kidd tried to tell you, but it was Kenway who waved you aboard the cramped rowboat, saying, _We’ll need all the help we can get._

James Kidd strides over and sticks out the sword hilt for you to see. His slim mouth is drawn in a tight line. “Ben’s sword.” You take it and turn it over your hands to make sure, yes, those golden embellishments belong to Hornigold. Something sticks in your throat. Fear, guilt, grief, coagulated and gnarled like a present of thorns. “Keep it,” Kidd tells you, “and give it back when you see ‘im.”

The trail leads towards the rumored ruins of an old arsenal, picked clean by pirates and carrion birds. Hidden amidst jungle vines and dusk, the three of you struggle to advance over the uneven terrain. The black-haired pirate grabs your hand tightly and leads you across a huge, crumbling parapet. His features seem to grow gaunt, dark eyes glinting like coins in moonlight.

Suddenly, he stops in his tracks. Kidd tilts his head upwards as if he’s praying to the heavens above, takes a breath in, and then wets his lips. “There’s blood,” he says calmly. His nails are digging shallow crescents into your palm. “About half a mile ahead. Lots of dead. A dozen, maybe more.”

It’s like a train rams in your chest. You stagger backwards, gasping for breath as you imagine your pirates collapsed in a heap of bodies. Gunshot. Slit throat. Stabbed through the lungs. _Dead._ The world rushes back around you as Kenway seizes your shoulders and forces you to meet his ocean blue gaze. Like his eyes, his touch is hot like oven coals.

“Go back to the beach,” he orders. “We’ll find them.”

“Edward--”

“ _Go._ ”

The tree roots grab at your feet as you distance yourself away from the ruins. The adder stone in your pocket poisons every step with promises of death. You wish you could fling it far, far away, and instead you tighten your fist around the smooth pebble. When your legs finally give out, sand greets your shaking hands and knees, not jungle moss. The ocean croons her song of seafoam and high tide.

And then silhouettes move against her wine-dark body. Two of them. One lean and lanky, one broadly built. Facing outward to the ocean, backs to you. The coats wrapped around their bodies are torn and ripped viciously. The taller one turns smoothly, as if they know your presence, and you see the face of Charles Vane.

His mouth moves silently, yet in a familiar way. Of course you’d recognize the shape of your name on his lips.

You meet him halfway, colliding like wayward souls, your hands winding around his messy locks, his arms locked around your waist. Vane presses a chapped kiss on your forehead and rocks you back and forth in his arms as you sob about old ruins and the scent of blood.

Benjamin Hornigold in navy blue steps forward and you hurl yourself in his arms, too, knocking a bark of laughter from his chest. “Glad to see your face in this pitiful place,” he laughs. He cups your face in his callused hands, cold as the ocean, and smiles. You shiver at how cold, how bloodless he feels. “Kenway with ye?”

“They’re back at the ruins,” you say, words starting to falter as you drink in their appearance.

Vane and Hornigold look as ragged and worn as their destroyed clothes. They have dark purple shadows under their eyes and red welts across their bare neck and shoulders. By moonlight, you finally realize that their yellowed shirts are spattered with blood. Even the hands that hold you have nails caked in black blood.

“You look like you fought a legion of soldiers. What happened?” you breathe.

The disheveled pirates glance at each other. Vane looks away first, his temperament taking over as his face twists in a cruel grimace. You know the glint of shame in his eyes. “We were caught by surprise,” Hornigold says gruffly. He shifts his gaze to the ocean and drags a sleeve across his mouth. “Dragged us on some godforsaken treasure hunt without any treasure worth stealing.”

“What _did_ you find?” you ask.

The forest rustles quietly.

Instantly, the two pirates tense and Benjamin tucks you neatly behind his broad frame. They are weaponless, but they stand tall and true and unafraid. Another weight lifts from your trodden spirits as you recognize the arrivals. Another song from the adder stone and another hymn from the ocean, tainted by a sudden, serious tension n the beach.

Edward Kenway steps forward warily, hands empty and half-raised, his eyes darting back and forth. His boots and trousers are caked with mud. Daggers sheathed and pistols strapped to his chest, untouched. Slightly hunched over, as if he were in pain, James Kidd follows close on his heels.

“Vane, Hornigold,” the black-haired pirate chirps. “Like roaches, it’s just impossible to kill ye.”

Kenway’s blue eyes are fixed on you once more. “Princess, I need you to step away from them.”

“Why?”

“We found the treasure hunters. Outlaws and mercenaries. A whole crew, twenty-strong. Dead.”

“More specifically,” Kidd interjects, linking his fingers behind his head, and wrinkles his nose. “Drained of blood.”

“With bite marks on their neck,” Kenway finishes. He draws his sabre with a flick of his wrist and Kidd deftly twirls twin daggers with a salacious wink.

“If you think that we would hurt _her_ \--” Vane begins, only to be cut off by Kidd: “Until we know _anything_ about what sort of curse is bestowed upon you dolts--”

“She _stays_ ,” Hornigold growls, low and guttural like groaning trees.

You can’t understand why they are at each other’s throats, hackles raised like wild dogs fighting over a scrap of territory. Your voice feels like it’s been sheared by a knife, your limbs unwilling to flee or advance towards the pirates, to beg them to stop fighting--

\--and then, you slip a hand around the adder stone and it reminds you, again.

_Strange magic has descended over Nassau._

A blink is all it takes. Suddenly, James Kidd has pinned Hornigold against a sand dune with his daggers, twisting them into his sides as the taller pirate merely scowls, as if the wounds were no worse than a mosquito bite. Vane reaches for you-- only for his coat sleeve to go up in flames, unnatural flickering shades of ocean teals. He spits a curse and swats the flames out, then effortlessly dodges Kenway’s sword before it carves into his shoulder.

As the blonde pirate flashes past, Charles Vane seizes one of the flintlock pistols strapped to the belt, thumbs back the hammer, and fires it at Kidd’s direction. The mechanism jams with another spark of blued fire and you swear, Kenway’s eyes flash the same color.

The _Jackdaw_ bobs in the ocean, oblivious to the island horrors.

The squabble for dominance is over as quickly as it begins, and it ends with blades at Hornigold’s and Vane’s throats. “Yield,” Kenway hisses and presses the sabre harder against Vane’s jugular. “We’ll have you confined to the ship quarters until we… until we figure out how to control… _this_.”

“Fuck you,” Vane spits. “D’you think I know what’s going on?”

“Don’t think this is amusing or novel to any of us. You and Benji just drank the blood of some twenty men. Is it a curse that drives you to kill? Demons on your shoulders?”

“Nah,” Kidd pants, one knee pinned on Hornigold’s chest. “It’s got to be a _hunger_. I’ve felt it before, just not to this extreme.”

“So says the graverobber,” Hornigold replies scathingly. “Hunger, aye. Like shards of glass in your throat, clawing for drink. Besides, ye want someone to blame, blame me. It’s worse for me. Vane hardly feels it.”

Kenway lowers the sword slightly. “This true? You’re less ravenous for blood?”

“I don’t crave it.” Vane jerks his head in your direction. “Which is why I know I won’t hurt her.”

* * *

The auburn-haired pirate sighs and gently takes your hands in his, removing the gauze from your trembling grasp. You wince as Vane wraps the bandages around your cut palm carefully and firmly, then set it aside. His cold fingers still search for your acceptance, the answer in the way the two of you interlace your hands.

“Sea glass,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb over the back of your wounded hand. “Even if it is smooth and tumbled, glass can always draw blood.”

“Don’t be callin’ me a delicate flower,” you warn him. “I’ve already had an earful from Thatch.”

Vane’s face crinkles in a scowl. “Ol’ Blackbeard givin’ you lectures?”

“He knows about ghouls and vampires and forsaken souls more than anyone on this island. Having him teach me might keep him from drowning in a bottle.”

“What more do you want to know?” he asks softly.

“Perhaps it’s this wretched adder stone of protection,” you say, half-laughing, “but I don’t fit in with the others. Kenway and Adé are born in embers, Kidd and Thatch crave flesh, you and Benjamin drink blood, and I don’t even know what the fuck Rackham is, but if I learn, maybe I’ll _belong_ \--”

Vane bows his head and kisses your hands. “You are _perfect_. In my last moments as a solely human, mortal creature,” he whispers, “I only thought of you.”

You smile weakly. “Truly, Charles?”

“Honest.” He raises his head. His hands slide against your bare shoulders, then cup your face in his slowly warming, callused hands. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop wantin’ you for my own,” Vane says. “So let me steal a kiss from you, let me _kiss_ you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ᕕ( ᐕ )ᕗ
> 
> tw for sexual content, very very mild blood(drinking)

Vane slams you against the heavy desk and he rips away your coat with a ferocity you haven’t seen in a while. He presses his eager mouth to your neck and his entire frame shudders as he laps at your pulse, tenderly and carefully, like he’s deciding the best way to slice you into pieces and serve you on a silver platter. Your hands slide up his tattered shirt and touch warm, wet blood that oozes from his various wounds.

“You’re hurt--”

“I will heal quickly,” Vane growls. “Once we’re done, the same cannot be said for  _ you _ .”

His hands claw open the blouse, gaze fixed somewhere between your tingling lips and the pulsing veins in your neck. And then it slides down your breeches, seeking, digging, for the intimate places which so dearly missed his touch. Charles’s lips crash against yours in the first, proper kiss. Hungry. Powerful. His canines press delicately on your bottom lip without breaking the thin skin.

Elsewhere, his fingers stroke and coax shivers throughout your entire body. Vane grins wickedly. “Christ, you’re drippin’ and I haven’t even showed off my dick.”

“Don’t need your cock,” you reply breathlessly. “I got plenty in your absence.”

A vicious snarl rips through him. Blood suddenly fills your mouth as his fangs harshly cut through your lip, flowing freely as Vane laps at the minuscule wound, and then he places his red-smeared mouth near your ear in a low, hoarse whisper: “Brave words. I’m goin’ to  _ ruin  _ you.”


End file.
